Gabriel's Journey by Alison Hart Page B

become more than just comrades.
    Setting the books on a bench, I grasp her elbow. “I won’t be gone forever,” I say. “And I won’t be in battle. I’ll be behind the lines. I may wear a uniform, but I don’t even carry a rifle.”
    She blinks, her eyes glimmering with tears. “And you believe that will keep the Rebels from killing you?”
    I open my mouth to reply, but the reverend’s words stop me:
The fort had surrendered.
I know I can’t chase away her doubts.
    â€œThat’s what I thought.” Annabelle picks up the stack. Staggering under the load, she starts up the aisle, and once again my farewell remains unspoken.
    Only this time,
I decide,
I ain’t leaving without a proper farewell.
Throwing back my shoulders, I stride up the aisle in my squeaky new brogans. If tomorrow I’m marching to Saltville to face murderous Rebels, then tonight I should be able to march up to Annabelle and face the storm of her sorrow.
    *  *  *
    The morning sun rises as red as blood. Not a favorable omen, I tell myself as I loop the we`bbed surcingle over my saddle. The gloomy sky could foretell a vicious battle. Or it could mean that Sassy will kick my head wide open before I even mount her.
    Bending down, I reach under the mare’s belly to retrieve the end of the webbed belt and bring it up so I can buckle it. She kicks out, but I made sure before I started that we were far from the other horses. Her hooves harmlessly pelt the air.
    All around me, the men of the hastily formed Fifth are preparing to ride out. Traveling with the regiment are farriers to shoe the horses and veterinarians to heal them. A train of mules packed with supplies snakes down toward the road. An ammunition wagon and a supply wagon, both pulled by teams of mules, plod along at the rear of the train.
    Captain Waite and several other company commanders are already mounted. They ride through the throngs, delivering orders and rallying the troops. For a moment, I watch as Champion trots by. His neck and tail are arched as he carries himself and his rider in high style. Preparing to ride into battle suits the stallion.
    Turning my attention back to Sassy, I double-check the blanket roll strapped behind my saddle. Secured on top are a poncho, an overcoat, a lariat, and a lead strap. Next I look through my right saddlebag to make sure I’ve packed a currycomb, brush, and hoof pick, and then I check my horseshoe pouch for extra shoes and nails. They say the infantry marches on its stomach and the cavalry marches on its horse. Our lives may depend on our mounts, and I aim to take good care of Sassy and Champion.
    In my left saddlebag are three days’ rations for Sassy and me. I’ve also rigged a coffeepot onto the back of the saddle, on orders of Captain Waite, who loves his morning cup. When I lead Sassy forward, the pot clatters.
    Panicking, she kicks out again and sets the coffeepot to rattling even louder. But I notice Sassy ain’t the only fractious critter. All around me, horses and soldiers dance awkwardly, and cussing courses through the squads. Some of the cavalrymen bought too much from the camp sutlers yesterday and have overloaded their horses. I see bulky quilts and heavy mess kettles strapped to bedrolls, and cans of food and Bibles poking out from stuffed saddlebags.
    Our squad had only two chances to drill with the Enfield rifles. The soldiers carry them in slings, and they hang awkwardly from their shoulders. Pa says the rifle alone weighs about eleven pounds, and forty rounds of ammunition weigh about six. I wonder how long it will take for the extra supplies to grow too burdensome.
    Pa moves silently among his squad, checking straps, tightening girths, and calming soldiers and their mounts. He stops to show Corporal Vaughn how to fold his saddle blanket and smooth out every wrinkle to spare the horse’s back. When Pa sees me watching him, he sends an encouraging